


Just One Of Those Nights (The SLS Remix)

by Firelightmystic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A Splash of Marvel 616 History for Spice, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Avengers 2012, Blind Date, Canon Divergence - Avengers (2012), Gentrification Strikes Again, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sexy Shenanigans In An Alley, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, That's Up For Discussion Later, The Beginning of Something Beautiful, or Just Really Horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24971197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firelightmystic/pseuds/Firelightmystic
Summary: Natasha's been angling to set Steve up on a date for a while now...
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 154
Collections: Stony Loves Steve 2020





	Just One Of Those Nights (The SLS Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jellybeanforest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/gifts).



> I liked the idea of your Blind Date prompt, and things rapidly and wildly got out of control after I decided to set it in that Avengers 2012 splinter universe. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Format note: [[Comm. Speak]]

* * *

“Did you do anything fun Saturday night?”

Steve huffed out a cynical laugh as Natasha ducked underneath his arm to reach for a parachute, and adjusted his earpiece, slotting the tiny bud snugly in his ear canal.

“Well, all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, so no, not really.”

Natasha was unfazed with the sarcasm, however, and slotted a slender battery pack into the Widow’s Bite on her left wrist before looking up at him with a slight quirk of her lips. “Vicki from Cryptography has a thing for baritones and loves karaoke. If you ask her out, she’d probably say yes.”

Aaaand, this again.

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes as he adjusted the harness on his uniform. Natasha had been like a dog with a bone the last two weeks, trotting out candidate after candidate for Steve to make time with. Logically, he could see the point--he _should_ adjust to this new century, and the easiest way to do that was to immerse himself in other people and new situations and dive in, but…

But what? He’d been out of the ice for almost eight months. He had a job, and a home, and even friendship.

Maybe?

Certainly he had strong foundations of it--he and the Avengers had rapidly moving towards that territory; they’d been thrown together after the Chitauri invasion and the fiasco of Loki escaping with the Tesseract, and between attempting to track down Loki, the revelation that Bucky was still alive thanks to that strange double he’d fought, and the revelation that Hydra was going strong and infesting all levels of government, _including SHIELD_ , well, it made sense to stick together and tackle it as one.

It wasn’t his Commandos, but it was just as good in its own way, and he could actually admit to being grateful that Sitwell and Rumlow had so casually offered him that fateful Hail Hydra--as if they thought he was going to return it!--that sent him away from SHIELD and back to the Avengers, Natasha and Clint in tow.

Not that there had been much Avenging going on. Thor had been busy tracking down Loki, and Bruce had been puttering away at Stark Tower while Tony…

Jesus.

Tony.

It had taken him a while to remove the mental hurdle of “Howard’s Son”, but once he had, he’d been perpetually in awe of Tony Stark. He’d thought he’d seen genius in his own time, but Tony burned with it, and the contradicting bits and pieces of his personality made him a fascinating enigma that Steve wasn’t quite sure what to do with.

He was infuriating and a bit of an ass, but he was also startlingly generous and could be quite kind. He was brash and bold and suave, but also tormented, and insecure, and Steve wasn’t quite sure he’d ever be able to get a definitive read on the man.

All he knew was that he wanted to make a play for Tony, but the timing was never quite right between the fallout from the Chitauri invasion and the Bucky being alive and finding out Hydra was very much active thing, then the Mandarin nonsense and the breakup with Pepper, and his own nerves. Tony might not even be interested--the man certainly had no qualms about going after what he wanted, and had never given Steve any kind of indication that he was interested.

Or at least, Steve hadn’t figured it out if Tony _had._

This sort of thing used to be a lot easier...

Steve let out a disgruntled noise, more aimed at himself than anything, but Natasha arched a brow at him, obviously taking it as a response to her comment.

“Too shy or too scared?”

“Too young.”

Natasha snapped an ammo clip into her gun and holstered it before giving him truly spectacular side-eye.

“She’s 30, Steve.”

“I’m old enough to be her dad.”

Wow. That sounded even more lame out-loud than it had when it was a hastily generated excuse in his head.

“You’re 28. Being frozen for almost 70 years doesn’t count.”

“Yet it doesn’t change the fact I’m technically 94.”

28 but really 94, and all the people he’d known and loved were dead, dying, or kidnapped by Hydra, the world was exactly the same in all the wrong ways, yet new enough to leave him reeling at the unfamiliarity of everything around him, and he just couldn’t seem to find neither the will nor the way to make a space for himself.

It felt like he was going on 150 some days.

Natasha turned to face him fully, and Steve had an uncomfortable moment where she seemed to shred through every last layer of his psyche with a pointed stare.

Steve _hated it,_ felt tension ease up his spine and tingle in his knuckles and he drew himself up, prepared to launch into a confrontation over--what, really? Natasha prying? Natasha trying to give a damn despite his weird determination to thwart that? Was that honestly worth a fight, and why did he even _want_ to fight over it.

The moment eased suddenly, something shifting in her gaze that was far less intense, and Steve felt the ever-present battle-readiness that’d stirred to something dangerously reactive settle back down.

Natasha tossed him his uniform’s helmet, expression shifting yet again to something almost...playful.

“It’s the blue hair, isn’t it?”

Later, Steve would allow himself to be a bit disgruntled at the ease in which she glided through expressions and non-verbal cues, but for now, he’d take the out.

“It’s a bit...daunting.”

“So old fashioned.”

“Leave me alone, I’m a senior citizen.” Steve took off at a jog for the hatch, leaping out of the Quinjet and into the overcast sky.

The comm crackled to life in his ear, Clint’s wry voice mostly distorted by the wind whipping around him.

[[As much as I adore the fact that you just won me 20 bucks, I have to say that parachutes exist for a reason, Cap. No one wants to clean splattered super-soldier off the ground.]]

“Thanks, Hawkeye.”

Steve tucked himself in as much as he could behind his shield and as he reached the tree line, angled himself so it could take the brunt of the impact as he crashed through a wild jumble of branches and neatly roll into a crouch to wait for Natasha to join him on the ground while Clint kept the Quinjet ready for a quick escape.

This base was supposed to be unoccupied with minimal security, but you never really knew with Hydra. Tony’s utter lack of concern for things like security clearances or federal regulations in the face of discovering neo-Nazi cultists had infested SHIELD had won them an incredible amount of information, and all quietly enough that Hydra had no idea where the leaks in their intel was coming from, or how so many of their moles were disappearing.

Steve was just glad that Tony had been the one to go digging--Natasha’s inclination had been to just publicly burn all the spies and completely level the playing field. It was a drastic option, and one that he might have even considered if things were a bit more dire--and thank God that Project Insight’s helicarriers had only just started construction--but this method was preferable because it gave them better chances of routing out Hydra while still salvaging SHIELD.

It also gave them better odds of finding Bucky.

“So blue hair’s a no-go. Still got a thing for brunettes?”

Steve turned to stare at Natasha as she silently crept towards him from her own--much neater--landing spot a few feet away.

“Let’s do this recon mission, _then_ find me a date.”

Natasha jabbed a finger at him. “That’s an agreement. I’m taking that as tacit permission to get you a life.”

“I have a life.”

He _had not_ intended that to come out so defensive.

“You have a job and spend your free time working out or trolling joggers. That’s not a life. It’s just depressing.” Natasha shifted onto the balls of her feet and scanned the area, no doubt planning a swift--and deadly--approach.

“Will you at least get laid?”

“ _Can we not do this over mission comms_?”

“Can you not be a total killjoy and go on one single date? It’ll be worth your while…”

Steve rolled his eyes at her sing-song voice, and reached for his shield. “Natasha. The mission.”

“I’m multitasking.”

Steve heaved a lofty sigh, and handed Natasha his binoculars. “Two guards in multicam, 8 o’clock, 13 feet. Semi-automatic rifles, guessing AR-556.”

“Well, hello there Hydra.”

Steve squinted, taking a closer look as one of the guards shifted into a patch of light.

Sonuvabitch...

“Hey Widow...remember how you said you’d do anything for five minutes alone with Rumlow?”

Natasha’s roiling curse as she snapped the binoculars back up was answer enough.

“He’s mine.”

“Not if I get to him first.”

[[I mean, I’m glad to see the backstabbing fucker go down, but I feel compelled to remind you both this is a recon mission, not a murder-Nazis-and-drag-Rumlow-off-into-the-vengeful-dark type of mission.]]

Natasha sniffed disdainfully. “It could be.”

Steve shifted his shield, gauging the angle of his throw so that it would take down the first guard, and knock over Rumlow without immediately killing him. He wanted a few words with the bastard. “You’re just pissy because you have to stay with the jet and can’t take him down yourself.”

[[Damn right I am. I owe him for Budapest!]]

“He’s got a point.” Natasha reached for one of her pistols. I’ll be sure to take that up with Rumlow as well, Hawkeye.”

Steve glared daggers at Natasha, who had deliberately moved into the trajectory of his planned throw.

“ _Widow!”_ Steve tried to gauge a new angle, but Natasha shifted with his line of sight, obviously intent on screwing up his throw.

“Mine.”

“Dammit, Nat!”

Natasha cocked her head, that mercurial smirk tugging at her lips again. “Tell you what. You can have that Nazi boot-licking piece of shit, but you have to make it hurt, and I get to dress you.”

“We’re going to have a chat about you bringing your own agenda inside of one of my ops.”

“We’re going to also have a chat about this upcoming Friday night.”

“ _Natasha.”_

“I have someone for you. He’s just your type. Brunette, feisty.”

“He?”

“Don’t be boring, Rogers. All the cool historians that made a name for themselves banking on you and Barnes will be crushed… ”

[[Probably half the Triskelion, too.]]

Great. Now _Clint_ was getting in on this nonsense.

Steve glared at the sky, even though the Quinjet was not visible. “Comms going dark.”

[[Hey! I--]]

Steve tapped his earbud twice, disconnecting it from the comm channel.

“You are persistent.”

Natasha shrugged. “My whole career is predicated on getting answers to questions people would rather not answer. It’s no shame in being bi.”

“I know that! Look, it wasn’t, I mean..okay...just...Buck and I never...we were too close. He was like my brother.”

“Bo-ring.” Natasha’s expression went disappointed.

“There was this guy Arnie back in the old neighborhood, though. Had some good times with him."

Delight sparkled in Natasha’s eyes. "Oh-hoh, what's this now? A mysterious lover from your tender youth? Was he your first?”

"I was an art student growing up in Brooklyn Heights who cruised the St.George Hotel and lived a short piece away from the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Arnie wasn’t even my _fifth._ ” Steve paused, thinking about sleek black hair, dark eyes, and a kind-hearted soul that refused to be diminished, even in the midst of the war. “But he _was_ a friend. A good one. I miss him.”

“Ah.” Natasha let the silence settle for a moment, and Steve was grateful for the quiet memoriam, grateful that he’d at least gotten to see Arnie one last time before the cancer had stolen him away mere weeks after he’d gotten out the ice.

“So.Friday night.”

Good. God.

“I don’t think I’m in the right head-space for a relationship, you know? I just...I need some time.”

“Time to what? Sit in your room and mope? Brutalize another hapless punching bag? Skip therapy sessions?”

Steve froze, and looked at Natasha incredulously. “How do you even _know_ about--you know what? Never mind. Of course you’re grossly invading my privacy.”

Natasha shrugged. “I invade everyone’s privacy. It’s even easier when you leave your cell phone unlocked in the kitchen.”

“Thanks for that.”

“Oh come on. No one’s telling you to start making wedding plans or anything. It’s just one date. Have yourself a good time, get a nice dinner out of it, maybe get laid. I guarantee he’ll put out if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Steve sighed, weary in the face of Natasha’s persistence. “Nat--”

She overrode him, patting him on the shoulder as she stepped out of his throwing angle. “I think this will be good for you. Trust me?”

“You terrify me.”

Natasha’s smile was vicious and smug, like a cat who had stolen the cream, eaten the mouse, caught the bird, and pinned the resultant carnage on the dog.

“I’ll call you with the details. Answer your phone, or I’ll give that old grandma who hangs out at the lobby coffee shop your phone number. She swears she was your number one fan back in the day. ”

“Jesus, _fine_.”

Natasha slipped away with a quiet chuckle as he turned his earbud back on, and calculated his shot.

He was absolutely going to take this latest indignity out on Rumlow.

* * *

Steve had heard Col. Phillips once say Peggy didn’t know whether to shit or go blind when she saw the damage Howard had done to their war table after a Hydra weapon he was examining accidentally discharged; he didn’t know what it meant, but the subsequent yelling and tension in the air made it easy enough to get the gist of it.

Or so he thought.

He hadn’t reckoned on the sudden dive his stomach took, the way he insides curdled and his muscles tightened as something hot and angry flashed through his body and his teeth clenched and he couldn’t even find _words_ for the outrage he felt, couldn’t figure out how to express it, and all he knew was that he felt some kind of awful about it all. And also maybe he wanted to put his fist through a wall.

 _Now_ , _now_ he understood the full breadth of that expression, and it took everything he had not to turn around and just go back home.

This was _not_ his old neighborhood, not by any stretch of the imagination. It looked...sterile. Whitewashed. All the life and energy and hectic buzz of life that he’d known was just...gone. There was a Starbucks taking up the space where The Velvet used to stand, and a case of dried out looking pastries taking up the spot where he used to bum cigarettes and listen to Gypsy Rose Lee fondly bitch about Madame Tirza and her “precious” wine fountain to whomever she was holding court with at the moment.

A goddamn Starbucks.

Steve wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when Nat had told him where he was supposed to be meeting his mystery date, but it certainly wasn’t having his face rubbed in how much his old stomping grounds had changed.

What was it Dugan had said? You can’t go home again?

He sure as hell hadn’t lied.

Steve reached for his cellphone, unlocked the screen with his thumbprint and tapped on his messaging app.

_You're meeting outside the Starbucks on the corner. Look sexy, and do that moody thing you do with your lips.That’s def a hit, trust me. I sent him a picture of you, so he’ll find you._

No updates since then. It was already ten minutes after--if this ended with him being stood up, he was never trusting Nat again. Steve pocketed his phone and leaned against the streetlight so he wasn’t blocking the sidewalk flow, and took in the sights and sounds of his old neighborhood only to realize that there was nothing there that was familiar.

Steve was leveling an especially dour look at the European Wax Center that replaced what once had been a house shared by three families he’d grown up with before the war, when he felt the warmth of another person settle in beside him.

“Sooo...fancy meeting you here.”

Steve froze in the middle of quietly seething about the gentrified mess his neighborhood had turned into, his stomach twisting as an all-too-familiar voice registered above the white noise of the sidewalk traffic.

Tony. Stark.

 _Of course_ Natasha would know that he was interested in Tony, not that he’d managed to get anywhere worthwhile with the man, and of course she would throw him right into Tony’s path.

This blind date was a setup, and he honestly didn’t know why he expected any better from Natasha.

“Tony...um, hi?”

Steve straightened, suddenly self-conscious about his outfit. Tony was wearing a pair of nice gray slacks and a black shirt with a thin silver tie, the gray suit jacket slung over his shoulder in a pose that looked like he’d prowled off the cover of a fashion magazine.

Steve self-consciously toyed with the rolled up sleeves of his royal-blue dress shirt, and cursed himself for wearing jeans instead instead of dressing up. He was expecting drinks and talking, but Tony looked like he was primed for a date at a fancy restaurant.

Steve silently cursed Natasha’s meddling.

“Tony, hey, I um...didn’t realize it was going to be you.”

Well, that came out wrong.

Steve winced internally as Tony’s expression flickered before he threw up a mask that Steve had started to privately refer to as the “press face”--cool, in control, and utterly devoid of any deep emotion.

“Oh! No, I was just swinging through for some...coffee.” To his credit, Tony’s pause was barely noticeable as he quickly scanned his surroundings to pick out the nearest establishment. He wasn’t quick enough to hide the wince of distaste as he looked at the Starbucks., however, and Steve figured he should at least do Tony the courtesy of not pointing out his oft-verbalized disdain of anything related to the coffee chain.

Brilliant.

Not even a minute in, and he’d managed to insult the guy so bad he was about to pretend like he wasn’t even there for a date and just so happened to be in the area for coffee he hated.

Steve wanted to kick himself. Tony was a friend and colleague, and a prime catch. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a bit intrigued by the man. Lord knew Tony popped up in his fantasies quite often these days.

“God, no, just...I mean, I would have dressed up if I’d known it was you. I um...I thought this was a casual thing.”

Tony relaxed and, after no doubt taking a moment to recover his mental footing, brazenly eyed Steve up and down for a long moment. “Gotta say, casual really, _really_ works for you.” Tony let his eyes linger a moment longer, blatantly ogling, and grinned.

“So, according to Natashlie, you’re a really sweet veteran that dabbles in art. She sent me a few pictures of the NYC skyline that you’d drawn.”

That red-headed she-devil...Steve huffed out a rueful laugh. “Something like that. So, that’s your type, then? All those models and power execs can’t hold a candle to an artistic soul?”

“To be fair, she also said you had mournful blue eyes and were stacked like a brick shithouse.”

“ _Classy,_ Tony _.”_

Tony held up his hands defensively. “Her words, not mine.”

“Natasha’s a menace.”

“She reamed in the neck with a syringe, once. Just...shot me up with random drugs. No consent, no safeword, just strolled up and shoved it in there.” Tony pointed at his neck, which was absent of the deadly crosshatch that Steve had seen in his SHIELD file.

“Pretty sure that saved your life.”

Steve fell into step beside Tony, who had taken advantage of the brief lull in pedestrians to start moving down the sidewalk.

“I’m just saying.”

“You say it pretty often. How about you find a new dead horse to beat?”

Tony smirked up at him. “And let Nat get the upper hand?”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but she’s _always_ had the upper hand.”

Tony shuddered theatrically. “God, you’re right. So. This date thing. How serious are we doing this? There’s supposed to be a decent restaurant around here that’s got some great reviews on Yelp--fancy a bite to eat?”

“Well...we could flirt over a pretentious dinner--I saw a place with spaghetti donuts that serves their drinks in light bulbs,” Steve started, and Tony groaned and swore under his breath about hipsters. “Or…”

“Or?” Tony echoed, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

“ _Or,_ if you think you could handle my kind of a good time, we’re gonna go find a bar. You’re going to feed me a greasy burger, with at least two patties, and a mound of fries.”

“I didn’t think you were the bar type, Rogers.”

“You also probably didn’t think I dated men.”

Tony snapped his fingers and leveled a finger at Steve. “I will admit to being quietly astounded. The bastion of American Strength and Righteousness isn’t 100% straight. Holy shit, it’s the end of days.”

“They had all sorts of folk during my era, Tony, and Brooklyn Heights in particular was a hub for the LGBT community--is that still the term, or did that change?--anyway, it’s hardly a shocker. I’ve been informed that more than a few academics had their speculations about me.

“Well, now, that _is_ a fair point. So...we’re on your turf now. What’s the plan, Cap?”

Steve stopped in front of a bakery that proudly announced itself to be 100% organic and vegan. “Why did you pick this area to meet? You could have easily chosen something close to the Tower.”

Tony shrugged, ran a hand down the suit jacket that he had folded over his arms a block earlier. “Well, Nat made me agree to go out with a mystery artist before she showed me your picture. Wasn’t sure what I was walking into, so I, uh, I thought you might be more in your comfort zone closer to your home turf?”

“My home turf, huh?”

Steve waved a hand around, gesturing at the area in general. “My home turf disappeared when I went down in the ice. Look at this place, Tony."

Steve gestured at the two-story high Target on the corner, at the second Starbucks next door, and a nearby row of street-level house shops and eclectic restaurants.

"It used to be a borderline slum in some areas, full of poor working class stiffs, artists and writers, and misfits. They turned the St. George into student housing, and all the bar, clubs, and private rooms are gone or turned into pretentious storefronts. God only knows where all the housing went."

Steve sighed, feeling keenly out of place.

"I appreciate the thought, but this isn't working for me. If you want a date or a night out somewhere, I'm your guy, but you can't try to give me back my past like this. This...isn’t it. It's gone."

Steve nudged Tony's shoe with his own after noticing his subdued expression.

"I’m still game for a date, though. I’d...maybe been trying to figure out how to ask you out for a while, and I’m still interested. Let's go scare up a good time. Hell, try to get me drunk." Steve quirked a grin at Tony's disbelieving snort. "It's doable, but it'll only last a few minutes."

"Now that's a challenge for the ages. I know a place that’s good." Tony muttered as he headed back down the sidewalk. "And, hold on, I thought Captain America didn't drink?"

Steve rolled his eyes at Tony’s teasing grin, though it took some doing to keep an answering smile off his face.

"Captain America downed everything from bathtub gin to torpedo juice, and whatever the hell it was Howard and Gabe were brewing in the still behind the mess hall. And that’s to say nothing of the various alcohol stashes that we liberated from the Nazis.”

“I can’t believe I’m bypassing that little revelation about you and the SSR raiding booze, but hold on .My dad...was bootlegging hooch during the war?”

Steve snorted in fond remembrance. “Hell, everyone was. Your dad _also_ had a still going in his lab for a while, and I know he and Gabe tried to make vodka a couple of times. They used me as the tester because I was the only one that wouldn’t immediately die after tasting it.”

Tony’s expression shifted into one of delight--rare, when Howard brought up--and leaned into Steve’s space, giving him a whiff of woodsy cologne that was filled with hints of spice and tobacco. Steve took a moment to revel in the scent while Tony nudged him frantically. “ _Please_ tell me there were flames.”

“Well, we used to grab a couple of bottles and take it with us on missions. Wasn’t worth shit for drinking, but it was hell on Nazi tanks.”

“Jesus.”

They walked together in companionable silence until Tony ducked suddenly down a narrow clean swept alleyway, and stopped in front of a rusted metal door with a triumphant, “We’re here!”

Steve took a long look at the lack of exits, the way the alley was dark and shadowy even in the late afternoon and in full defiance of the flickering light above the door. A bit of steam hissed out of a set of pipes.

Right.

“This looks like a place people go to get stabbed.”

Tony ignored the jab at his choice in venues, and knocked once on the door. The slot in the door slid open and a shadowy figure peered at them.

“Password.”

“Nine-Nine.”

The door swung open, and the bouncer stepped aside, letting Steve and Tony inside.

It was an honest-to-God speakeasy, cozily lit with red curtains as the backdrop to a small stage, and clusters of tables across the floor. Tony bypassed all the tables and headed towards the bar. “This is the best place for a drink in the whole city. I usually roll through here after I close a business deal.”

Steve grinned as he settled down at the bar, resting his hands on the distressed wood top. Now _this_ was more like it.

“Milo, how are you? Let’s start up a tab, my usual please, and I’ll leave my friend here to your tender mercies.” Tony placed a black American Express onto the countertop and slid a fifty towards the bartender. The fifty disappeared into Milo’s pocket, the card went into the till, and two napkins were placed onto the bartop in a matter of seconds.

“Good evening, Mister Stark.” Steve watched as Milo poured up two fingers of Glenlivet 18, and then turned to appraise him for a moment.

“I’ll have--”

“Oh, you don’t pick your order.” Steve looked between Milo and Tony incredulously. Milo is some kind of bartender wunderkind--he knows what the best order is for you just by looking. He gives you the drink, you drink it, love it, and say ‘thank you, sir, may I have another?’. Trust in the suspenders.”

Milo arched a brow at Tony’s jab before placing down two bar glasses on Steve’s napkin.

“Barrel Proof bourbon, neat, apple cider chaser.”

Steve glared at Tony when he slyly began to hum the chorus to The Stars and Stripes Forever.

“I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not. We’re just getting started, Rogers.”

* * *

“Nnngh”, Steve grunted as he stumbled back against the wall, hands full of Tony’s ass. “Don’t stop.”

Steve had been true to form, no matter how many decades or serums removed. Steve Rogers’ Hollow Leg, established 1918, struck again, and he’d killed off ¾ of a bottle of bourbon over the course of the evening, along with a hefty triple-patty bacon cheeseburger, and two baskets of fries. It would’ve been three, but Tony had defended his food with all the desperate fervor of a drunk protecting their only buffer between a nice buzz and a vicious hangover the next day.

They were still a few hours away from last call, but Steve had no interest in closing the bar down; Tony was brilliant, and charming, and an incorrigible flirt, and as much as he hated to admit it, Natasha was right--he needed a good time, even if it was just for one night.

Hopefully it would lead to more than that, but that was something to contemplate later, when he wasn’t so _fucking hard,_ and Tony wasn’t trying his damndest to climb him like a tree.

Tony, who apparently approached even _this_ with the same reckless gusto that he did everything else in life, clawed at his chest, tangling one hand in his dog tags as the other scrabbled against the buttons of his shirt, succeeding only in getting the next two undone. He probably would’ve done a better job of it had he not been drunk and distracted with the way Steve rocked and manhandled him, caution gone down the drain three bourbons and a sly grope ago.

“Holy shit, Steve, help a guy out here.”

“I _am_ helping you out, or do you want me to--ahh!-- _God,_ ” Steve arched into the sensation as Tony bit his collarbone and then licked up the side of his neck before nibbling at the patch of skin just below his ear, wreaking havoc on his nerves.. “Or do you want me to drop you?”

Steve moaned brokenly as Tony tightened his legs around his hips and rocked against him in a slow grind that sent heat rushing down his spine. “Can’t you just fucking flex and shred your shirt? I feel like that’s a thing you should be able to do?”

“I like this shirt.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re allowed clothing anymore.”

Steve laughed into Tony’s mouth, sharply slapping his palm against one of his butt cheeks and earning a startled gasp. Steve rubbed the sting out of it, and Tony made a frustrated noise as he fumble yet another button.

“Fuck it down, _down.”_ Steve obliged Tony’s demand, and was rewarded by him yanking his head down by the dog tags and smashing their lips together in a heated kiss, wild and messy, full of tongue and playful nips at his lips. .

“Okay, car, the car, let me call Happy and--” Tony broke off and _whimpered_ when Steve yanked him flush against his body and continued to kiss him, his hand buried in his thick hair, tugging it this way and that in order to better direct Tony’s movements.

When Steve finally broke off the kiss, Tony stared up at him dazedly, pupils blown with lust. “Fuck it, I’ll call the suit inste--”

Steve kissed him firmly, breath escaping in a hiss as Tony palmed at his erection. Yeah, he wasn’t going to be able to hold off that long. “Here, Tony. Now.”

“ _Oh_ _shit,_ okay, that’s hot but no, we can’t, we--” Tony hissed when Steve bit at his neck, hips bucking as Steve continued to nibble and suck and _tease,_ and then pursed his lips, blowing cool air over the sensitized area and causing gooseflesh to prickle up. “ _Ohhh, oh yes,_ no! No, we’re in public and there’s bound to be someone walking by, and-- _fmph!”_

Steve laughed and dragged Tony into another kiss, releasing his grip on Tony’s waist so he could work at his belt instead, deftly unbuckling it and then undoing the button and zipper of his slacks in short order.

Tony panted into his mouth as Steve got his hands on his cock, trailing his fingers over the heavy length before swiping the steadily leaking precum down all six...and a half...seven... _and a half (!!)_ inches. Steve had encountered a few more risque articles about Tony, and while it was one thing to have gossip mags reporting that Tony was well-endowed, it was something entirely different to have his hands on it.

Steve grinned into the kiss, something in him unfurling as memory crept up on him, myriad escapades in alleys just like this, hasty interludes that sometimes led to more, sometimes didn’t, but was always a good time. He might not be 100 lbs. and nothing but spite and bones anymore, but it was...familiar? A little piece of normalcy? Steve Rogers tipsy and carrying on in an alleyway, just another random night.

“Steve, I can’t believe I’m the responsible one here--” Tony shuddered and rocked against his body when Steve twisted his hand _just so_ , and sighed resignedly. “Fuck Steve, this isn’t 2007, I can’t handle another public indecency charge, I--”

Steve dropped his mouth to Tony’s ear and traced the outer curve with the tip of his tongue before whispering “Touch me” and then nibbled on his ear.

Tony swore and had his hands in Steve’s jeans a moment later, and it felt nice, felt amazing, but the tangle of limbs was awkward and Steve pulled free of the kiss.

“Hold on, hold on let me…”

Steve pulled Tony flush against his body with his left hand, and wrapped his free hand around both of their cocks, reveling in the damp heat and thrill of sensation as his own cock was snugly pressed against Tony’s.

Tony jerked and let his head fall against Steve’s chest, huffing and moaning and dropping all kinds of enticing noises from his lips as Steve worked his hand in a smooth glide down up and down, up and down, stroking them both off and occasionally thumbing over his tip or Tony’s as the need arose, spreading the gathering precum down their shafts to ease the way. .

“Oh God Steve, yes, holy shit is this even--ahh, _ahhh, Steve--”_

“You make too much noise for you to be worried about cops,” Steve teased as he began to speed up his hand, chasing the rising sparks of pleasure and pooling warmth, growing impossibly harder when Tony made a frantic noise and his breath began to stutter. They were nearing a peak, and Steve’s balls began to draw up and tighten and oh, that was so much better, felt so wonderful, and God, this was going to be spectacular and _nowhere near enough._

He wanted more, wanted so much more, but first he had to slake this more immediate need.

“Gonna have someone get curious, and boy what a show they’ll get.Think the cops will let us finish before they haul us off to jail?”

“Fuck me, you’re a menace!” Tony gasped out, his impassioned voice just shy of too-loud in the hush of the alleyway.

Steve paused for a moment, but no one was approaching, and he dropped a mild look down at Tony, who was making soft demanding noises and attempting to rut against him with absolutely no success, trying to urge him into resuming.

“This is why you’re not getting sucked, you know.”

He darted the tip of his tongue out, wetting his lips, and watched Tony fixate on the tiny motion, eyes near black with intensity, felt Tony’s cock twitch sharply in his hands. Tony’s mouth fell open and Steve quickly swallowed down his guttural moan with a kiss, chasing the traces of aged scotch and spiced apple from one of the cider chasers Tony had stolen from him on a whim.

Steve hummed in approval as Tony latched onto his shirt for support and began to move in a desperate, rocking grind with his movements, the busy nighttime ambiance of the city rising up to drown out muffled gasps and pleas that Steve greedily devoured, the wet glide of his hand on their cocks loud in his ear but barely noticeable in the overall equation of things.

A tell-tale quiver went through his body-- _close, he was getting so close_ \--and Steve sped up, ruthlessly pumping and squeezing and twisting, knowing he would finish and determined to at least get Tony off first.

It didn’t take long at all, as worked up as they both were, and Steve savored a primal curl of satisfaction as Tony let out a wrecked noise and stiffened, coming in hot pulses over his hand, his cock. Steve didn’t release Tony, instead continued to twist and pump, working Tony all the way through his orgasm until he twitched and fell limp against Steve’s chest, gasping wetly.

Tony taken care of, Steve continued, not releasing Tony’s cock as he chased his own orgasm now. Tony convulsed and bit at Steve’s shoulder, muffling his high-pitched whines of overstimulation, shivering and trembling and falling apart as Steve pumped up and down their cocks frantically.

It was over in a matter of moments, Steve’s mouth dropping open in a silent scream as he suddenly tumbled right over the edge, coming, and coming, and coming all over Tony’s spent cock, over his hands, over the front of Tony’s slacks when he jerked involuntarily. _Oops._

Tony’s muffled scream was barely that as what looked like a powerful aftershock rode through him, the lesser trembles and twitches against Steve’s body only serving to prolong his own climax.

It was a long moment before the blood stopped rushing in Steve’s ears, before he could finally focus on Tony, trapped snug against him and breathing heavily.

Steve pressed a kiss to the side of Tony’s neck, flushed and hot with exertion, and nuzzled against his cheek, savoring the prickle of Tony’s meticulously groomed facial hair.

“Good boy,” Steve began, and chuckled darkly at Tony’s tiny and despairing “Ohhhh, fuck” as his cock jerked and he shuddered involuntarily at the praise.

 _That_ little revelation he tucked away for later use.

“Call your suit, Tony, and get us back to the Tower. You’re going to fuck me good and proper, and then maybe do it again if you’ve got the stamina for it. We’ll talk in the morning.” Steve paused, and pressed another kiss to Tony’s chiseled jaw. “Or maybe the afternoon, if I really wear you out.”

There was a muffled noise and a curse, and something that might have been an accusation of demonic influence from Tony, but Steve ignored it, enjoying the easy lull and the satisfaction of a good time while they waited for the suit.

Not a bad night at all.


End file.
